Film Reviews by Steve

Routine crime thriller which gets marketed now as film noir but really is too sunny, and there are no shadowy interiors. Still, we get other genre motifs like the impression veterans of WWII were stiffed by those who stayed at home. Plus yards of hardboiled dialogue... And a blonde who's hot trouble (Shelley Winters).

John Payne is the front for Dan Duryea's unscrupulous gang of swaggering fraudsters. These conmen are proper lowlifes. Their latest scam is to convince a wealthy war widow (Joan Caulfield) to invest in a lavish project for a monument to her dead husband. But will actually be a big donation to organised crime.

The problem is we have to at least halfway sympathise with Payne's predicament when he falls for his mark. But he's an utterly amoral scumbag, even if not quite as repellant as his boss. And Payne hasn't the charm to make this work. It's actually much more entertaining to watch Duryea running through his familiar sleazeball schtick.

It's not obvious why every good looking dame finds Payne irresistible. But it's fun to watch these Universal starlets switch on the personality. Winters plays cinema's dumbest femme fatale to amusing effect. George Marshall usually directed B westerns and hasn't the style for film noir . This one is reserved for Dan Duryea cultists.

Unique political saga directed in the tradition of Italian Neorealism by its pioneer, Luchino Visconti. It's loosely based on a 19th century novel, but when the film makers arrived in Aci Trezza (Sicily) after WWII they found the way of life still intact. It's about the exploitation of impoverished fishermen by a cartel of wholesalers.

The dialogue is in a Sicilian dialect, not familiar even to Italians. The actors came from the region; the performances are stiff, but authentic. It is set on the rocky shore and in their crude stone houses. And the peaceful and wild sea. The crews have been stiffed by the middlemen for centuries but some of the men back from the war have new ideas.

Except the system is stacked against them, and their community refuses to work as a collective. One family attempts to break free from serfdom and their demise is excruciating. This is a persuasive, blistering polemic. Admittedly, it's likely that a documentary drama which scrutinises socialist solutions to poverty won't entertain everyone...

However, although the style is rudimentary, this is a visually haunting epic: of the boats on the sea at night, fishing by lamplight; the silhouettes of women searching the horizon for returning crews... It's a way of life that has been swept away, but the working practices are familiar in our gig economy. Visconti's masterpiece still applies.

This is the masterpiece of Italian neorealism and the pinnacle of social realism on screen. It portrays the shame and humiliation of a man who can't provide for his family. By the fadeout, the huge emotional tide of Vittoria Da Sica's tragedy is hard to bear. If this doesn't break your heart, check your pulse. Then call for help.

The masterstroke is the casting of non professional actors. Lamberto Maggiorani is the careworn father worn down by poverty in destitute post WWII Rome. When his bicycle is stolen he can no longer work, so he pursues its disappearance in accumulating desperation with his son- Enzo Staiola in one of the great child performances.

The depiction of Italy after the devastation of war is profound and detailed. But its dramatic heft is in the utterly convincing relationship between the man and boy as they search through the many strata of Roman society. There is no hope, but they continue on their quest because their need is overwhelming. We feel the burden of their survival.

And see how precarious life is without social cohesion. There is a political subtext, but no polemics. The man is poor and uneducated and doesn't understand how the system works. This is one of the most influential films ever made and inspired many future film makers. It's a monument to humanism which remains absolutely relevant today.

Actually no, it doesn't live up to the pulp sadism of its title (from Gerald Butler's 1940 bestseller). Though Burt Lancaster does get whipped by prison guards. He plays a suffering brute back from WWII with PTSD who accidentally kills a pub landlord, witnessed by a black marketer (Robert Newton) not above a little blackmail. It's a pessimistic London noir.

The East End was recreated on an extensive sound stage at Universal, so some money was spent on this, but it's from an era when studios were shooting more on locations, so it probably felt dated even on release. Its evocation of a dazed country struggling to emerge from the shock of war may have felt more contemporary. In the UK at least.

This is a land of bobbies on the beat, unlocked doors and ration books. Of austerity and crime, loneliness and loss. And threatening strangers who loom in the shadows of the human jungle. There is an overwhelming sense of despair. But as a thriller, it lacks the necessary suspense to obscure the familiarity of the narrative.

Burt is always good as the fatalistic loser of his early noirs. Joan Fontaine is superb as a traumatised war widow suffocating in her isolation; who fastens onto a wounded creature out of desperation and pity. Newton delivers his usual ham. There are points of interest but a quality film fails to emerge; it needed a more gifted director than Norman Foster.

After WWII the bad guys in Hollywood spy films changed overnight from the Nazis to the Communists. And with HUAC now putting liberals on the witness stand and worse, the FBI encouraged the dream factory to produce propaganda justifying the rightness of their cause. This is about dirty Reds stealing US nuclear secrets.  

And they are as unscrupulous as they could be, even rubbing out their own operatives when expendable. The west is completely virtuous. There is neither the moral equivalence of John Le Carre's Circus nor the action set pieces of James Bond. This is a procedural docu-noir in the contemporary style, shot on location in San Francisco.

Representing the FBI there's Dennis O'Keefe as a red blooded all American agent. Does he hate Commies! For Scotland Yard, Louis Hayward is more of a thoughtful analyst. And they make a good double act. This is a low budget crime feature and for all the motifs of social realism, it's just hokum, shot quickly and without finesse.

But it is a good thriller, however manipulative. Gordon Douglas tells the story well with a light touch and there are some effective dramatic crescendos. Like when a Russian immigrant takes a bullet for her new country. Regardless of how the viewer feels about the political polemics, it's a punchy B-picture with likeable leads.

Adapted from a now obscure thriller (by Murray Forbes) this has the narcotic feel of David Goodis' cult novels with its cast of nobodies undone by dumb bad luck and their own stupidity. The film was soon out of copyright and is now impossible to see apart from on fuzzy duplicates with appalling sound and no subtitles.

Yet beneath the years of deterioration, there's a really evocative film noir steeped in pessimism and inhabited by some incredibly fatalistic deadbeats. Paul Henreid makes the mistake of holding up a casino run by gangsters and plans to save himself by murdering a lookalike and stepping into his shoes.

But it's film noir so the dead man turns out to be in as much trouble as his killer. And the doomed crook puts his doppelganger's scar on the wrong cheek anyway, after the photo developer reverses the negative! Henried is miscast as a tough heavy, but Joan Bennett is amazing as his astonishingly defeatist rainy day gal.

Henreid produced and ended up directing without credit. Noir legend John Alton is the cinematographer, though his artistry is now buried under the haze. There's an ultra low budget and the twists are improbable, but the impression of malign fate has a way of lingering. Escape is futile... Someone should restore this, pronto!

Critically adored film noir shot on location around New York. It's only one of many noirs to either equate crime with capitalism, or portray business as a semi-corrupt racket, but this is the most overt. Writer-director Abraham Polonsky was soon suspended by HUAC and didn't get another screen credit for 20 years.

Everyone is corruptible. There are no good guys. John Garfield is an unscrupulous Wall Street lawyer for organised crime. He attempts to save his small time older brother (Thomas Gomez) who runs a nickel and dime numbers game when the mob tries to establish a monopoly. But the big brother doesn't want to be saved.

He sees the lawyer as morally unredeemable. This is an actors film. Garfield makes his predatory degenerate just about bearable. But Gomez is superb as the morally equivocal little guy, his self-betrayal worn on his sickly, suffering face. Beatrice Pearson is badly cast as his biddable secretary. It's like she's a rich girl doing crime on work experience.

Polonsky directs with style and there is stunning location photography and expressionist interiors. The poetic, unrealistic dialogue is probably a matter of taste. The plot doesn't cohere, but that doesn't always matter. But these people are so deluded they are hard to relate to; so there is zero suspense. It's more interesting than thrilling.

Thrilling police procedural about a real life murderer/armed robber who operated in Los Angeles in the mid '40s. And it's surprisingly faithful to the actual events. Richard Basehart gives a convincing performance as the cop killer who returned from WWII a resentful loner and becomes a resourceful and determined criminal.

It's typical of the docudramas popular in this period, with the stentorious narration and extensive location shoot. Cinematography was by noir legend John Alton- the prince of darkness- and there are some artistic interiors, but documentary realism for the street scenes. The portrayal of LA is one of its big strengths.

There's an exciting climax in the city's storm drains, a year ahead of The Third Man. It is presented as a disclosure of authentic police methods. Jack Webb has a decent support role as a forensics lab nerd and he used this approach as a template for his hugely successful radio/tv crime series, Dragnet.

This isn't merely still watchable for its period realism and nostalgia for boxy technology. It's a really suspenseful thriller from start to finish as the cops close in on the dangerous quarry. Credited director Alfred Werker was a journeyman, but Anthony Mann took over mid shoot and this looks like his work. It's among the best postwar docu-noirs.

Not the best of Robert Siodmak's run of classic '40s noirs, but still a quality update of the old gangster set up about the cop and the crook who grew up on the same mean streets, destined to obsessively confront their alternative potential. This is the best role of Victor Mature's career as the dedicated Italian detective.

Though he's still matched by Richard Conte as the sociopathic cop killer. And womaniser. The mafia boss escapes from prison hospital to find his idealised other, his virtuous madonna- startlingly played by 14 year old Debra Paget. And then he searches the city at night for suckers to set them free.

The most potent of these encounters is with Hope Emerson, as a butch abortionist with a stake in a jewel robbery. The location photography of New York is striking, with the noir atmospherics reserved for the interiors. It was made by Fox, so Alfred Newman's music from Street Scene is again recycled, which is fine, but familiar.

It's a brutal portrayal of big city crime. Mature has to be willing to destroy himself to take down the narcissistic murderer. Aside from the resilient cop, everyone is malign, or indifferent. Censorship demands a moral perspective, but there is a tolerant, reformist agenda. This is a gangster noir classic and hugely influential.

Preston Sturges had been looking for a studio to produce this high concept comedy since the pre-code days, but with no takers. So it's a bit surprising when it finally got made, it had such a lavish budget with wonderful sets and music, and particularly costumes. But naturally, its wild anarchy looks back to the age of screwball.

Rex Harrison is a self absorbed, pompous orchestral conductor who has everything. Most particularly he is married to the lovely, devoted Linda Darnell who acquiesces to his every whim. So when he accidentally engages a private detective to watch her while he's away, he is devastated to discover she may be unfaithful.

His complacent life is torn apart. The core of the film is the three symphonies he leads while daydreaming about how he may respond. Including murder. Sturges says the music is intended to influence how he feels about her (presumed) infidelity. The story drifts for half an hour and then is invigorated during the fantasies.

It's a mixed success. Rex is- as usual- superb at making an egomaniac more or less sufferable. And he's funny. Darnell has little to do other than look beautiful, which she is. Rudy Vallee serves mainly as a reminder of how much better he was in The Palm Beach Story (1942). While it isn't in that class, this is the best of Sturges' later comedies.

Leisurely genre mash up which works best for its mood of dark pessimism. It takes the classic western theme of a range war but the cattle gangs parallel the corrupt semi-legitimate gangsters of film noir. And it's photographed by RKO noir legend Nicholas Musuraca. This is an extraordinarily gloomy experience.

Robert Mitchum plays a laconic drifter recruited to provide muscle for Robert Preston's mob of shady cowboys seeking to defraud the government on a contract to provide beef for 'Indian' reservations... and be the fall guy. Only the stranger ultimately sides with Barbara Bel Geddes and her law abiding homesteaders.

When the two male stars get round to the inevitable fist fight, Mitchum breaks the ceiling light so they can scrap in the dark. The ambience of noir is primary. Unfortunately the narrative often drags. Robert Wise was a fine genre director, but despite a few interesting set pieces, this doesn't often engage.

And given the longueurs, Mitchum's extremely passive performance is more narcotic than hypnotic. There are periods where nothing is happening. However the set design and costumes leave an impression of realism not typical of studio era westerns. Plus the Arizona locations. But this one is mainly for fans of atmosphere.

This sometimes gets called the first western noir, and it's a classic example of the style. The exterior New Mexico panorama (shot by James Wong Howe) is gloriously arthouse, with the low, brooding skies, dead black trees and deep shadows of towering canyons which swallow up the transient, wandering humanity.

Film noir is usually about sex and greed, but this has a western theme of revenge. Other genre motifs are intact: there's voice over narration; a cursed male protagonist just back from the (Mexican) war; and it's a psycho-drama with references to dime-store Freud. As well as the stunning, high contrast photography.

Mitchum plays an orphan who grew up disturbed by violent images of the death of his father in a gunfight. He was adopted by an evasive widow (Judith Anderson) and later falls for her daughter (Teresa Wright) whose love/hate affair recalls Gilda (1946). He will never find peace unless he resolves the hazy, long ago memories.

It's a literate psychological western but director Raoul Walsh includes plenty of action too. And it's an ideal vehicle for Robert Mitchum as he entered his prime. Surely no one ever photographed him as magnificently. Later the same year he starred in all time great noir Out of the Past, which contains many interesting echoes.

Sitcom oddity which is among a few in the late '40s which draw upon the (now obscure) novelty that Shirley Temple grew up and is old enough to date boys. She was actually married when she made this and 19 years old. Surely wealthy, Hollywood executives weren't really grabbed by the premise that an older man might date a teenager?

Nevertheless, that's what this is. Cary Grant (42) is a bachelor who reluctantly escorts a perky high-schooler (Temple) to fulfil an obligation to her (much) older sister (Myrna Loy). And predictable complications ensue. All this only matters today because it features a comic performance from Grant still somewhere near his prime, supported by a funny script.

Though made in '47, it points ahead to the comedy of propriety which stifled Hollywood in the '50s; the gags emerge from the stars failing to conform to expected standards. Minor characters are not the eccentrics of screwball, but a tutting chorus of disapproval. Like the genre was asphyxiated by the Production Code.

Still, it's a Cary Grant vehicle. He makes it fun, even when reduced to taking pratfalls on school sports day. Though it is now best known for this dialogue which has escaped its source: Hey, you remind me of a man/What man?/The man with the power/What power?/The power of whodoo/Whodoo?/You do/Do what?/You remind me of a man...

After WWII, Henri-Georges Clouzot was banned from directing films because of his alleged collaboration with the German occupation. This hugely successful return feels like he spent the years studying Hollywood film noir. This is a whodunit with an undertow of sadness and pessimism and a look of sombre expressionism.

There's a decent mystery set among the lower ranks of Parisian showbiz. But it is more interesting for its impression of impoverished French society after the war, in a period of recovery. It is set among its music hall performers and there are incidental glimpses of typical acts, like the chorus line, cabaret singers and performing dogs.

And it's a showcase for three compelling star performances. Suzy Delair is a blousy chanteuse who fought her way out of the slums. Bernard Blier is a musician from the conservatoire who gave up everything to marry her. Then, 40 minutes in, Louis Jouvet raises it to another level as the tenacious cop who suspects them of murder.

The title being the address of the French police HQ. This is a high quality policier. It's possible to feel its influence on British crime pictures of the period, in particular. But being French, this is a touch more salacious. Really, it's as gloomy as the films that got Clouzot accused of being unpatriotic. It's just that the public was ready to see them.

One of about half a dozen good quality B-noirs directed after WWII by Anthony Mann, before he specialised in westerns. And there's a unique opportunity for prolific support actor Steve Brodie to star as an honest truck driver duped into a warehouse robbery and forced to go on the run with his pregnant wife to escape the mob.

So it's a road noir as the couple seek refuge on the rural highways, and rely on the kindness of strangers. The fall guy is just out the armed forces, which gives us the genre motif of the WWII veteran coming home to find the country he fought for is corrupt. And with just one stroke of misfortune the destiny of anyone may lead to ruin.

Still, then as now, a background in the marines is a shorthand for the potential to fight back. Brodie is well cast, as his lack of star charisma makes him a convincing everyman. And there's an impression of how much he has to lose in his idyllic marriage to Audrey Long who is convincing as the perky homemaker; though maybe she lacks agency!

The screen is dominated by the threat of Raymond Burr as the mentally unstable gang leader who creates a fine double act with his entirely rational sidekick (William Challee). There are some effective noir lighting set ups toward the climax and Mann whips up plenty of suspense aided by the unsettling score. This is a very durable low budget thriller.